


Pool

by garbagebreath



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Compliant, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M rating for graphic content, M/M, Nothing Sexual, Slow Burn, just the content you would expect from a fanfiction based on a Stephen King novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 15:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagebreath/pseuds/garbagebreath
Summary: “Do you ever stop running your mouth?”“Eddie my love, even death couldn’t stop this mouth from running.” Richie winked. “S’pose I’ll be talkin’ to the crows by then.”





	Pool

The setting sun resembled melted gold on the horizon. Yellow liquid lava cascaded from the coral pink sky it sat upon, and trickled into the purpling ocean water. The stagnant ocean was without a single wave, silent, an image of peace and quiet that differed so heavily from the beach that mirrored the horizon. The sand, much like the sky surrounding the setting sun, was pale pink. Walking on it was like walking on a pillow, plush between your toes in ways that the sand on the Long Island Sound never was.

Eddie Kaspbrak marveled at the picturesque sunset, it had grown into a habit of his, spending his evening on the beach watching as the gold dripped farther and farther down the horizon until it disappeared behind the calm waters only to return again hours later. Every night, without fail, hundreds of people would crowd the shores of the beach. Not to admire the sunset like Eddie, no, but to live the way Eddie had never been taught to. Covered in sand, the glass on their green beer bottles glinting in the dying light and their laughter,  _ booming. _

He envied them, but he kept his distance, sat atop his 1959 peacock blue Cadillac with his eyes focused on the skyline. Once in a while, he would slide his loafers off of his feet and hop off the hood of his car. Just to bury his feet in between the soft pearly sand and feel contentment.

Contentment, something which was hard to come by, for a man like Eddie.

A shrill shriek from a young woman, it sounded like, emerged from amongst the teens and twenties playing (because that’s what it was,  _ playing) _ on the beach. Eddie startled at the sound of it, and his eyes hurriedly searched the crowd to find the source of the noise. His shoulders relaxed when his eyes found the blonde girl screaming with joy as another girl with warm brown skin lifted her in the air by her waist. The blonde’s legs were tanned, from her time on the beach, and they kicked joyfully to escape the woman’s grip.

The girl with tawny beige skin pressed a kiss to her squirming friend’s neck, and Eddie quickly averted his gaze back to the sun. Though, there wasn’t much of it left to look at.

Screams of jubilation weren’t commonplace in Derry; he hadn’t lived in Maine since he was fourteen years old but that didn’t stop him from jumping over sewer grates or, more recently, responding worriedly to the sound of screaming. Eddie didn’t miss Derry, he didn’t miss it the same way he didn’t miss the pneumonia he caught in the second grade.

He wasn’t happy, not really, but he wasn’t fool enough to wish he was back in Maine.

Content, Eddie was content with digging his feet into rose colored sand and watching the sky turn from pink to purple. Not happy, but  _ content.  _ That’s more than he ever dreamed of being. The sun’s warmth faded completely when it dipped under the ocean, the cold silvery glow of the moon was a stark contradiction to the molten gold sun.

He slid off of the spotless azure hood of his car and his bare feet landed on top of the loafers he kicked off when he arrived on the beach, less than an hour ago. As he was slipping his feet back into his laceless shoes, his eyes landed on a crushed up beer can tangled into the sawgrass spread out along the beach. With a grimace, he glanced back at the crowd that moved without rhythm to the music blaring from the speakers they had propped up themselves into the shore. He envied them, sure. But he pitied them more.

There wasn’t a single streetlight on the highway that led from the beach into the city center. Eddie drove slowly for that reason, but he supposed that it didn’t make much of a difference. As if a police officer would drive him off of the road if he decided to put the pedal to the metal.

The sneering face of the Irish Cop in Derry, Maine appeared behind his eyelids.  _ “D’ya know how fast yew were goin’ kiddo?”  _ He would ask, disappointment and frustration in his eyes. 

_ “Why Officer, I thought  _ you _ knew.” _

Eddie wished he could remember the name of that Derry cop. Perhaps Mike would remember. After all, he did attend the man’s funeral. He averted his eyes, quickly, to a sticky note pasted atop his vibrating dashboard. A bright pink reminder that he had friends, a note from Mike that only said  _ “In case you forget.”  _ With a sloppy heart in the corner next to Mike’s name. The note was just a precaution, so that they wouldn’t forget again. Though, Eddie wasn’t sure a sticky note with Mike’s name on it would do him much good if he began forgetting.

_ Mike Hanlon? Hmm… We must have gone to high school together. _

Despite that suspicion, Eddie exhaled calmly through his nose and brought forth the image of Mike’s laugh and his smile and his voice from his memory. He did the same with Stan Uris, and then repeated with the rest of the lucky seven. Though, they were much harder to recall. He hadn’t seen the others in quite a while.

The other four were living their own lives elsewhere, and all Eddie could really hope is that they could recall his laugh, and his smile, and his voice from their memories.

  
  
  
  


His car came to a shuddering halt on the street across from Mike Hanlon’s favorite bar. Not that there was much variety in the city, but the roof at Zion’s Pub was easily accessible, and Mike had a passion for reading under the stars. The sidewalk outside of the club was thumping, and when Eddie stood on it and looked straight up towards the moon - he could see the silhouette of two pairs of legs dangling over the side of the building. He considered hollering up at them, but squashed that idea fairly quickly, he didn’t like the idea of startling one of them and watching them fall and break their necks. It was unlikely, but Eddie was a worrier.

Once again, he felt himself falling into a routine as he elbowed his way into the bar and through a plethora of sweaty bodies to find the door that held a spiraling set of stairs leading to the rooftop.

Feeling in desperate need of a change, he picked up a Manhattan from the bar on his way upstairs.

The stars illuminated the roof with a faint silver glow, doing just enough to light to two men sitting shoulder to shoulder on the edge. Stan Uris and Mike Hanlon were talking lowly to one another, their heads ducked down as they spoke mere inches away from each other. Eddie felt an uncomfortable flush rising to his cheeks, he was suddenly reminded of the two girls from the beach. Hesitantly, he shifted where he stood and cleared his throat, not loud enough to truly startle the two men.

They whipped their heads around at the same time, still so close to one another Eddie was surprised their heads didn’t clunk together in their hurry to see who was standing behind them. Despite the nagging suspicion that he was intruding on something, both Mike and Stan brightened when they saw his face.

“How was the beach?” Stan asked, his deadpan voice sounding breathier than usual. Eddie opted for ignoring that, and walked over towards the side of the roof to set his glass down on the brick wall and take a seat next to Mike.

“Same as always.” Eddie shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Covered in sand.”

From the corner of his eye, Eddie saw Mike take a sip from a brown stained bottle. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest idea of theirs, to get drunk on the edge of a thirty five foot building overlooking nothing but concrete. He drank from his own glass. Mike set down the bottle with a soft intake of breath and the smacking of his lips, Eddie believed Mike always looked the most handsome underneath the stars. The umber of his skin darkened, and the silver night reflected in the deep copper of his eyes. The finely trimmed facial hair framing his face gave him a timeless look, and it reminded Eddie of Mike’s father.

“Manhattan?” Mike gestured to the murky red beverage held in between Eddie’s frail fingers, at the responding nod he smiled. His teeth were alabaster, striking. “Good choice.”

“Don’t lie to him.” Stan cut in, he was leaning forward just so to see around Mike. His short brunet curls caught in the wind, and whipped against the top of his olive toned forehead softly. The bags under his deep brown eyes were plum colored, cleverness and amusement lurked in those tired eyes. “Are you giving up?”

“Can always count on you for a vote of confidence, Stanley.” Eddie mumbled around the rim of his glass, before knocking the rest back and downing the bitter liquid.

Eddie could feel the rhythmic thumping of a Bee Gees song coming from downstairs, he noticed Mike’s foot bouncing along to the beat. Oftentimes, Mike and Stan were comfortable sitting in their shared silence. As if they were communicating in their own silent, telepathic way. Eddie had never seen the appeal in that. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone over the age of thirty in this city.”

Amused, Mike tilted his head to look at Eddie. “How do you know they’re not thirty?”

“Well  _ look _ at them.” Eddie gestured towards the people in the streets below, lounging in their cars and drinking more than anyone who has any semblance of respect for their liver would. He felt his vision blur and sway threateningly as he looked down at the sidewalk and focused his tipsy eyes back on Mike and Stan. Both of which, looked far more sober than Eddie, despite the fact that they had a head start on him. “If they’re not twenty years old, they’re acting like they are.”

“Happy?” Stan teased, he took a quick sip from his beer.

_ “Reckless.”  _ There was a bite in Eddie’s voice, that bitterness reforming as his jealousy reappeared. Caution is something he carried with him, a chip on his shoulder that spoke in the voice of his Ma. He could only recall throwing caution to the wind once or twice, and those memories were blurry.

“Hypocritical, coming from the mouth of a handsome young man fearlessly teetering on the edge of a two story building with a glass of whiskey in his hand.” 

“Almost nothing you just said was accurate.” Eddie grumbled, but his cheeks reddened without his permission. Mike copied the sweeping gesture Eddie had made towards the people below. “They don’t know that.” He paused for a moment, and then quieter said, “This isn’t Derry, you know.” Eddie’s throat felt dry, and his hand clenched so tightly around his glass that he feared it may shatter in his palm. God forbid he get a bacterial infection from cutting his palm open on bar dishware.

“Speaking of  _ reckless,”  _ Stan spoke distastefully, but as protocol with him, his actual emotions were concealed behind his half lidded eyes. “Richie just moved into town.”

A cold wave of soberness washed over Eddie, and he felt the warming effect of his alcohol wear off within an instant. “Richie Tozier?” His voice came out squeaky, much like how he sounded in his early teen years, he cleared his throat awkwardly as Stan frowned.

“Do you know another Richie?”

_ I might.  _ Eddie thought, albeit a bit hysterically.

The last time he saw Richie, they didn’t part on the greatest of terms. Not that he ever parted on good terms with much of anyone, he thought of his Ma and his… Myra, with a tired grimace. The eagerness to see him fell in line next to his own apprehension and fear, what he wondered, is whether or not finding Richie was more reckless than hiding from him. “Where is he?”

“Looking for you.” Mike said it, apologetically. Whether he was sorry because he knew of Eddie’s inner turmoil, or because he thought Eddie didn’t want to see Richie, he wasn’t sure. “He sounded pretty desperate to find you.” His throat felt raw, warm. He swallowed thickly and turned towards the sidewalk below him, which didn’t sway nearly as threateningly as it had mere minutes ago. “I have to go.” He stood, with wobbling knees. Mike steadied Eddie with one warm palm wrapped around his trembling wrist.

“You’re going to try and find him this late?” Stan asked, a solid mix of disbelief and thinly veiled concern in his voice. A cold breeze hit the three of them at once, and the shiver they shared seemed louder than their voices.

“I’m going home.” Eddie finalized through the quivering of his jaw.

_ Precautions precautions. _

He had no doubt that running into Richie was an inevitability. It was going to happen when he least expected it, take him off guard when he was typically so guarded. As was the story of his life. He didn’t so much as glance at his car before deciding on walking to the apartment complex he resided, he couldn’t quite say he lived there, he wouldn’t call what he did in this town, that was so widely regarded as some sort of elysian by the high out of their mind patrons,  _ living.  _ The walk wasn’t short, but he could still taste whiskey on his tongue and didn’t trust himself behind a wheel.

_ Precautions precautions. _

Richie Tozier had a Magic 8 Ball when they were in the fourth grade. He was enamored by it, asking it ridiculous questions and taking their answers as fact. They were in the Barrens, and it was the middle of summer. Bill was standing knee deep in the muddy waters that left a foul stank permeating his skin, and Richie was beside him, Magic 8 Ball in hand. Eddie was standing on dry land, his hands crossed over his chest in uncertainty as he kept his distance from the two boys.

“You’re going to get sick.” Eddie warned, staring at the two of them with fearful eyes. Looking back, he wasn’t even certain why the two of them were standing in shitty water in the first place. Kids. “My Ma says that all it takes is ten seconds of standing in the mud to give you a head full of ringworm.”

“Sounds like she just told you that so you wouldn’t go standing in mud puddles.” Richie grinned toothily with his buck teeth, he flipped his toy around in his palm before catching it again. “Magic 8 Ball, will I get ringworm standing in this puddle?” He shook it, with a fiercity unnecessary for a toy based on chance. He shrugged, and held the answer out to Eddie with a smirk.  _ “Sources say no.” _

“You’re a wet end, Richie.”

“A lot of talk about ringworm coming from a stick in the mud.”

“G-Guh-Guys…” Bill had sighed, that was before the light in his eyes died. His exasperation was more amused than anything else.

“Magic 8 Ball, will Eds here ever stop bein’ such a stick in the mud?” He shook it again, and grinned.  _ “Don’t count on it.” _

_ Precautions precautions. _

  
  
  
  


He recognized the cherry red 1975 Mustang parked in the center of the road twenty feet away from his apartment building before he recognized the man who owned it. To his credit, Richie Tozier could barely be spotted with his head ducked under the popped hood of his shiny car. The faint orange glow of a cigarette dangerously close to the vehicle’s insides is what Eddie first spotted from the sidewalk across the street. Only after he realized what he was staring at did he notice the brown auburn curls that spanned out messily across Richie’s sun kissed face and the bulky glasses on the end of his long nose, slowly sliding further down with every movement.

_ ‘Magic 8 Ball, are the lenses of Richie’s glasses going to shatter against the engine of his extortionate Mustang?’ _

_ ‘Without a doubt.’ _

Eddie swallowed roughly, the stagnant taste of rye lingered in his throat and did nothing to make it feel any less dry. He didn’t realize his feet were carrying him across the street until he felt his clothes being pulled by the cold blast of wind that wormed its way between the buildings overlooking the road.

The anxiety he felt at the bar had melted away the moment he saw Richie, if he had any time to think about it, he probably would have assumed he was hallucinating. He had always been a lightweight, perhaps a Manhattan was just too much for his brain. “Do you do all your smoking over the engine of your car?” Eddie’s hand grasped the scarlet hood of the Mustang. “Or do you save a few smoke breaks for the gas pump?”

“And risk blowing up this hunk of junk?”

Richie’s wit was fast, faster even than his sight. Only after his sarcastic comment did he slowly scan his glasses framed blue eyes away from his car’s innards up to Eddie Kaspbrak’s face. Their eye contact was brief, it took only a split second for realization to cross Richie’s face, and that realization came to him in the form of a full body jerk that slammed the top of his head against the gray underside of the lifted hood.

_ “Shit…”  _ Richie hissed, he backed away from his car and prodded at the top of his (certainly bruising) head with a gentle hand.

“Oh God Richie, I’m so sorry.” Eddie apologized shakily, he knelt down towards the ground and picked up the cigarette bud that fell from Richie’s mouth and extended it towards the man, whose face was still pinched. “I should have told you it was me I just thought… well you used to try and scare me and…” Richie was looking at him again, though his lips were slowly morphing out of their pained pucker; the corners of his mouth began to turn up. “Jesus, will you stop staring at me like that?”

“It’s nice to see you too, dear.” Richie let his hand drop from the top of his head, his dark auburn curls began swaying in the wind. He slammed the hood of his car down to lean against it,  _ sleazily. _ “I’m not sure what the protocol is here, but back in Los Angeles we firmly believed in  _ get well soon smooches.”  _

“Annoying.” Eddie grumbled, he glanced away and hoped the cool night air was wiping the warmth away that had spread across his cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“Here as in, in town?” Richie’s voice lilted playfully, and Eddie flicked his eyes back to the man to see him grinning. “Or here as in…” He gestured, albeit lazily, towards the street below his feet. 

“Here.” Eddie faked his own agitation as he pointed towards the apartment building still looming tall and proud behind them. Most of the windows were illuminated with light, and he could spot his own apartment out like a raven amongst a sea of daffodils.

“Just moved in.” Richie’s cobalt eyes never left Eddie’s face, and the shorter man dropped his hand ungracefully. His throat suddenly felt extremely tight. “That a problem?”

“Of course not.” His voice sounded strained, and he wrinkled his nose before clearing his throat with a cough. He wasn’t sure Richie would buy it if he told him his asthma seemed to be acting up again, after all, he wasn’t sure  _ he _ believed that. “Stan said you were looking for me and… well, if you wanted to find me,” He nodded towards the building. “This is the place you would go.”

It sounded more like an invitation than he intended for it to.

There was a brief moment of silence as Eddie suppressed a wince and let his vision drift back towards the sad view of his darkened window. Looking at Richie drug up old memories, ones difficult enough to remember on your own, having the source of those painful recollections standing before Eddie certainly wasn’t helping to clear his mind. “Was giving me a concussion you welcoming me into the neighborhood, Eds?”

Just like that, the echoing nightmare plaguing Eddie’s mind whisked itself away. “Do you ever stop running your mouth?”

“Eddie my love, even death couldn’t stop this mouth from running.” Richie winked. “S’pose I’ll be talkin’ to the crows by then.”

Once again, Eddie thought back to the Magic 8 Ball Richie used to carry around when they were children. Much like the Magic 8 Ball, you could never really get a straight answer out of Richie Tozier.

“There any mountains to climb around here?” Richie suddenly asked, and he was scanning the street around him as if he could spot a mountain over the surrounding buildings. “Any marathons to run? I’m feeling…  _ spry.” _

“Aren’t you always?”

“I haven’t felt this energized in _ages,_ sugarplum.” He spread his hands out exaggeratedly, and Eddie felt that warmth again. Spreading through his chest and down to his fingertips as he watched Richie adjust his clunky glasses on his nose. _Outdated,_ those glasses were long past outdated. “Give me a tour of the town.” It was phrased like a demand, but spoken like a question. _“What are neighbors for?”_

Eddie wanted to protest that they were far beyond calling one another neighbors.

He knew an invite to spend time together when he saw one, getting a clear answer out of Richie was impossible, but he  _ knew _ Richie. Knew him better than most people. And he had learned to see through his novelty answers when they were children.

“You’re just going to leave your car here?”

“What, like they’re going to tow it?” It frustrated Eddie, how Richie already had the little town all figured out. When he himself still couldn’t dip his toes in the sand for more than five minutes, or drive his car faster than forty miles an hour. He found that his mild annoyance melted away fairly easily, when Richie Tozier held out his arm for Eddie to link his through and asked where the nearest movie theater was.

Of course, he shoved Richie’s arm away with an added, “Just follow me.  _ I’m _ the tour guide, right?” But they were both grinning like loons regardless, and Eddie supposed he was okay with not having the town figured out yet. He had Richie Tozier figured out, and that was good enough for now.   
  
  
  
  


Eddie Kaspbrak was in love with Richie Tozier. Had been ever since they were fourteen years old, or at least, that’s when he realized it. Nothing ever came of it, though, even as a child he never expected it to. 1963 was the year his mother finally packed all of their bags and decided that Derry just wasn’t good enough for her little Eddie Bear, she never said anything, but he assumed her motivation for moving wasn’t entirely unrelated to Richie. Of course, memories faded but feelings did not, and seeing his childhood love as an adult only served to prove that saying correct.

As they traveled the short ten minute walk from Eddie’s (and now Richie’s) apartment building, to the theatre that stood out like a beacon with its neon purple and green lights, Eddie could hear himself in his mind,  _ “Say Richie, I know how much you appreciate funny stories so I’ve got one for you. I’m in love with you and I have been for years.” _

The last time he saw Richie, he wanted to tell him. But it had been  _ easier _ then, when he was leaving. There was no promise that he would ever see Richie again, and confessing under those circumstances are infinitely better when you don’t expect reciprocation of those feelings you’re admitting.

Eddie, the gentleman that he is, let Richie pick the movie they would watch. Though, he immediately regretted it when Richie decided on Night of the Living Dead without so much as a second thought.  _ “Cliche.”  _ Eddie grumbled, just loud enough for Richie to hear.

_ “Romantic, _ Eds.” Richie disagreed, and the grin splitting his face was just as leering as the twitching of his eyebrows. “If you get scared, you can hide your face in my shoulder.”

Sometimes, he wondered if Richie knew. If all of the flirting that passed for joking was just a unique Tozier way of acknowledging Eddie’s feelings. Those suspicions never lasted for long, because Richie would throw his head back and his chest would shake with the sound of his boisterous hyena laugh erupting from his mouth.  _ If he knew, he would never be able to joke around about it like this. _

“I’ve never been here.” Eddie mentioned while Richie was grabbing their popcorn. The bespectacled man shot him a disgruntled look, his eyebrows pulling together in silent question. “Stan and Mike aren’t movie people.”

“Who the fuck isn’t a movie person?” Richie asked through a mouthful of popcorn, a woman standing near the soda fountain turned to glare at him. “Book people, I guess.” Richie answered his own question, and then smirked. “Think Stan the Man would enjoy a bird related movie? Say,  _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?” _

“If you decide to tell him that joke, make sure you do it when I’m not around.”

“Yessir.” Richie saluted mockingly.

There was a smearing of butter on Richie’s cheek, and Eddie didn’t think twice about reaching up and wiping it away with one of the napkins clenched in his palm. Richie’s azure eyes did something soft then, when one of Eddie’s knuckles skimmed across his cheek.  _ His eyes are the color of my car, _ Eddie realized and he dropped his hand limply by his side as a choked wheeze crawled it’s way up his chest.  _ Precautions… precautions. _ “You had butter… on your face.”

Grimly, Richie nodded. “I have, on more occasions that one, been known to have quite the butterface.”

Richie never let him get caught up in his own fearful head for too long, Eddie loved him for that.

  
  
  
  


“Why are you really here?” He felt braver in the dark, and Richie looked beautiful with the green glow of the movie projector illuminating his glasses. “You know why I am.”

“Cancer. Jus’ like yew predicted.” 

“I knew those cigarettes were going to kill you one day.”

“You could sound less excited about it. Didja miss me that bad?”

“You bet your fur I did.”

  
  
  
The silver moon was hiding behind obsidian clouds, and the freezing cold rain poured in buckets against the concrete. Richie Tozier had no qualms about sticking his hand out from under the roof of the theatre and letting droplets fall atop his opened palm. He stepped out into the rain and tipped his head back, letting his curls become matted with water and his glasses become dotted with beads of rain. “Are you trying to catch pneumonia?” Eddie called over the thundering noise around them.

“Dunno.” Richie shrugged, he let his head drop and water dripped from his chin onto his chest. “D’you think I can?”

“I never tried.” Eddie voiced nervously, he glanced down at the dry concrete he was standing on, just under the cinema’s shelter. Water trickled down the concrete from the puddles forming in the streets.

With a kick, Richie sprayed Eddie with the stagnant water collecting in a puddle. The hypochondriac spluttered as he felt the cold water drizzle down his back and dampen his clothes.  _ “Are you fucking crazy?”  _ He hissed, and blinked open his eyes to see Richie grinning at him in an annoying impression of the Cheshire cat.

“We used to play in the rain all the time.”

“When we were ten years old, maybe.” Eddie grumbled, he squeezed out the end of his shirt.

Though, Eddie couldn’t remember playing in the rain  _ much _ as a child. The looming presence of his mother was a stark and constant reminder not to do what she wouldn’t want him to. Richie was frowning, and it took Eddie a moment to realize he had mumbled most of that to himself. He reddened and dropped his dreadfully damp shirt against his stomach. “If there’s a risk we could get pneumonia, I’m not taking it.”

The smile, that Eddie couldn’t seem to wipe off of Richie’s face all night long, was gone. He let his eyes drift over Richie’s head, towards the night sky so he wouldn’t have to see that sad look, thinly veiled behind his eyes that are typically so teasing.

“Why did you do it?” Richie asked, his voice quiet and grim. Thoughtlessly, Eddie’s eyes traveled back to Richie’s. His blue eyes wavered behind his glasses, in the rain he was blurred. “You knew you were going to die when you did it. _It_ _chomped your_ fucking arm _off, Eddie.”_

Eddie’s throat felt warm and thick, he blinked before saying in a thick voice, “It was going to kill you and Bill.”

“So let us die!” Richie said, his voice high and hysterical. He reached for his hair and tugged on it, frustrated. “I mean  _ shit,  _ it’s not like Bill and I didn’t know what we were getting into.”

Eddie’s eyes twitched, and anger slowly began to bubble up in him. “We all knew what we were getting into.” He seethed, he stepped out into the rain to press a cold finger up against Richie’s chest. “Killing that… that  _ thing _ wasn’t your job alone. And it never would have died if I had stood there and watched the two of you bleed from your ears until your hearts stopped beating.” His breath turned to fog in the cold rainy atmosphere as he spoke, he settled a shaky look on the taller man. “I have a lot of regrets in my life Richie Tozier. Making sure you and Bill Denbrough got to live another thirty years isn’t one of them.”

He was trembling, whether it was from the rain or his anger, he wasn’t sure.

“I couldn’t even…” The tears trekking down Richie’s face mixed in with the rain.  _ “I couldn’t even take your fucking body out of that shit hole.  _ I feel like puking up my fucking guts every time I remember that I left you down there, you, who should have never died in the first place.”

“No one should have died.” Eddie said quietly. “But  _ Jesus, _ Richie. You can’t  _ do _ this. Blame me for willingly dying, blame yourself for watching me… you’ll drive yourself insane going over the what ifs.”

The wind picked up, fast and cutting as it whipped the rain over the two men and drenched them bone deep. Lightning cut across the sky and for a moment, Eddie could see the red streaks on Richie’s face. The shaking of his jaw and the wide electric blue of his eyes. If there was a chance that they could get pneumonia, they definitely were. Eddie could feel the ache in his chest from breathing the cold wet air into his lungs.

“You stop thinking, when you get angry.” Richie said, another flash of lightning, and Eddie saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Is that why you’re always trying to drive me up a wall?” It was rhetorical, Eddie realized that long ago. Around the same time he discovered that Richie never really bothered him that much, not really.

“How fast do you think we could get to your apartment if we ran?” Richie asked, his eyes dancing with excitement. Eddie tried not to let it show, that his heart skipped at the prospect of Richie staying over at his place. He blinked, and looked up at Richie through the pouring rain.

“You really have lost your mind.” Richie stared at him blankly, frustrated, Eddie gestured towards the wet sidewalk. “It’s raining.”

“Well we can’t  _ swim _ there, Spaghetti.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, hoping he was really making Richie aware of how agitating he could be. “You’re trying to anger me into running,” he saw Richie’s mouth open. “And it’s not working. I’ve broken my arm twice now, and I’m not-” Before he finished his sentence, he felt the breeze rustle him as Richie made a mad dash down the sidewalk, leaving Eddie behind in front of the cinema.  _ “Oh God damn it Richie!”  _ He called to the man’s retreating back.

And with one last uneasy groan, he took off after him.   
  
  
  
  


Eddie fell to a sopping wet trembling heap on the carpeted floor in front of his apartment door, he rested his head back against the wood and let his roughing wheezing do the breathing for him. A laugh, breathless and pained, escaped his chest when he saw Richie hobbling his way down the corridor towards Eddie, his own breathing was ferociously labored, and Eddie had half a mind to fetch the man an inhaler. Richie finally came to a shuddering stop leaning against the door directly across from Eddie’s, he placed his hands on his knees and laughed along with the shorter man. “I don’t think I’ve run like that since I was sixteen years old.”

Eddie nodded, closing his eyes for the briefest second as he heard the sloshing and screaming of seven eleven year olds running through the sewers. He blinked his eyes open to see Richie staring at him, curiously. “Anyone ever tell you that you run like the wind, Eds?”

“No.” Eddie paused. “But I know that I’ve told you not to call me Eds.”

It was silent, before he felt the jittering fingers of Richie Tozier wrap around the front of his shirt and tug him to his feet, his back sliding uncomfortably against the wooden door. Richie’s lips were sliding against his, wetly and rough. Eddie gripped the wrist attached to the hand holding him up on his feet, and pressed his lips back challengingly. He could taste the whimper Richie choked back on his tongue.

_ Do I frighten you as much as you frighten me? _

Richie’s eyes, blue and shining, were wild as he pulled away. His hand dropped from Eddie’s shirt and left the smaller man on unsteady feet. The air between them was silent, aside from their own heavy breathing that mingled in between their faces, still only mere inches apart.

_ Magic 8 Ball, what should I do? _

_ Better not tell you now. _

Eddie kissed him again, he tugged his hands through the curls on the back of Richie’s neck and brought their lips together. It wasn’t anger that made Eddie stop thinking, it was Richie. The bespectacled man opened his mouth to slide his tongue against Eddie’s, and the warm gasp that they shared had Richie sliding his hands to hold the smaller man’s waist in an iron vice.

“Not bad for a man whose been dead for thirty years.” Richie breathed as his lips detached themselves from Eddie’s with a smack. His glasses were crooked on the end of his nose, and there was a red bandage keeping one of the arms from falling off.

“Flattering. Coming from a seventy year old.”

“Hey now, Eddie my love, not all of us had the luxury of pretending we’re in our twenties for thirty years.” Richie kissed him again, knocking the remaining wind from his lungs with it’s softness. “You look great for seventy, by the way.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed.

  
  
  
  


The next time Eddie went to the beach, he took Richie with him. The auburn in Richie’s hair seemed lighter, and his blue eyes reflected the orange of the setting sun. The ocean water was warm against Eddie’s bare feet, a welcome surprise. “You do this everyday?” Richie asked, and he was grinning at the water lapping over his feet.

“No.” Eddie answered simply. “I don’t do this everyday.”

_ Content.  _

**Author's Note:**

> i recommend listening to pool by paramore. leave me comments? maybe?


End file.
